You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy?™
Fantasy football is crazy.
A lot of things happened today. Few were as exciting as the news from my commissioner that I was picking 2nd in our fantasy leeg.
The 2nd pick!
Woo Hoo!
With the announcement that I have the 2nd pick in my league of close to 18 years, I thought about the season to come.
I have a favorite team. The Dallas Cowboys. By week 4, they’ll probably be out of it. Without Fantasy football, the season might be lost. But with Fantasy, every game matters.
It makes the NFL worth watching. It transforms quiet fans into savages. It forces bar owners to get wifi and show every game on every set.
Fantasy football is enjoyed by men and women and children. It is dominated by teams with names so irreverent, you would think that Hemingway and Hunter S. Thompson were team owners.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am a NFL fan, but some games just don’t get the blood rushing to that special place.
Fantasy football fixes that. Like an eppy pen of adrenaline in the heart, there’s fantasy football. It takes even the most irrelevant game between the Detroit Lions and the Tampa Bay Bucs and gives it meaning.
You might have Detroit’s QB or you might have the Tampa Bay Wide Out.
And now you have a reason to watch and root and hit the local pub for another ale and a cheer of good times.
I started playing back in 1994 before the internet, when fantasy football was a back closet conception of freaks and wimps and pencil pushing geeks.
Back in the day, almost 20 years ago, our commisioner had to add up points using the USA today Newspaper. We didn’t know who won sometimes till Wednesday of the following week.
Man has Fantasy Football come a long way baby.
I was on line recently for the draft of my 2nd team. It’s more of a fun leeg with my kids and buddies. It’s low key and we play for a few dollars to keep it interesting.
My buddy was right next to me, his lap top knocking boots with my lap top. The internet was surging all around us. It felt like the green hue of the Matrix, saturated with draft recommendations and running back rankings that won’t mean anything after week 1.
Everytime a fantasy owner came on line, the ESPN song played like a triumphant coronation.
Hey the Jags just entered the draft room, the graphic would announce.
Then the music from our computers would blare: Dee dee dee. Dah dee dee dee. It was like ESPN was sponsoring this time of my life.
Suddenly, another trumpet blast and Deez Nutz was in the house.
It was like an NFL party on line.
What makes fantasy great now is the technology. The web site is a ferrari of speed and ease. It is a cyclone of kilobites swirling through the ether.
Stats and draft order and playes and positions. Anything you might need to stock pile a team. It’s like a Mission Impossible episode where super secret agents instaneously have access to information that might give you an edge.
Too bad the crystal ball can’t tell me if my number one quarterback choice is going to have another neck surgery.
Do I care about Peyton Manning as a human being having neck surgery? Maybe a little. But like the fantasy scum bag I am, I mostly now care about me and how I will replace 45 touchdowns a year with Matt Cassell or some other pedestrian signal caller that now lurks in my cyber huddle.
While ESPN’s draft is awesome, I also felt the technology can move too fast. With 60 second draft intervals, you have to pay attention to what you are doing.
Players were getting pulled out of cyber space faster than asian porn on liberty.
They say speed kills and I found that out in round five when my fantasy stock car hit the wall and exploded into flames.
It all starts when a slight move of my mouse led me to a list of players from outer Mongolia. I am not sure who these football sherpas are, but they are unrecognizable as anyone who will help my 2014 squad. Apparently this web site has too much horsepower and I got squirley in the technological marbles. Somehow, suddenly I am seeing names from the Manhattan phone book as my potential pick. I need a damn wide receiver ESPN. Where the hell is Austin Collie and Hines Ward?
I look at the number next to these obscure names and they all have four digits.
HUH?
Suddenly I am staring into a list of wide receivers with numbers like 1200 and 1201 and 1202.
PLAYER NUMBER TWELVE HUNDRED? WTF?
The clock is ticking down now, flashing red like a submarine that has drifted too close to a WWII land mine.
A mouse click ago I am looking at the 8th or 9th best reciever in the 5th round. I am now staring straight into the anonymity of some random pizza delivery boy named emanuel arceneaux -minnesota – wr. #1200.
WHO?
I begin to panic like a drunk driver at a police check point.
I move my mouse around the screen hoping something will illuminate in the next 7 seconds that makes me smarter.
Nothing happens. The screen remains the same. I am looking at pick number TWELVE HUNDRED. Emanuel Arceneaux.
O M G!
I curse out loud.
5 seconds.
I try and hit the reciever tab at the top of the screen.
4 seconds.
I curse louder.
3 seconds
I stare in disbelief wondering what everyone is going to think of this pick.
2 seconds
The red flashing ESPN light stabs my brain like a dull knife twisting in my flesh.
1 second
PICK SELECTED: EMANUEL ARCENEAUX
AAAARRRGGGHHHH.
The draft is moving so fast, other owners don’t know or care who I just picked.
This is unacceptable. I am a fantasy veteran. I decide to let the other owners know on the instant message line that I did not intentionally pick a former wide reciever now working as a correctional officer in Nome Alaska.
I type it out, but it is irrelevant. They don’t care. They don’t even notice.
In the over all context of life the error is a so what. But fantasy football is more than just a so what. It is relevant and can make a difference. I formed this league to bond with my sons. It also affords me the opportunity to quaff ale with neighbors and co-workers and root for random players from all corners of the NFL galaxy.
So if you don’t own a fantasy team I suggest cozying up to someone who does and root for them.
My leeg features at least 3 owners who have never owned a team before.
Fantasy Virgins.
I like the sound of that.
Suddenly turf toe and weather conditions in Chicago make a difference.
Cool.
Fantasy Football, one more reason to love football season.
Life’s Crazy™